


Across the Hall

by ACBromance



Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America, MCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:12:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACBromance/pseuds/ACBromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve could either be very fortunate, or very unfortunate, having three assassins living across the hall from him. They all seem to like climbing into his apartment from the balcony, each for different reasons. Clint comes for coffee. Natasha comes for Clint. And Bucky... Well, eventually Bucky comes for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! For everyone who noticed the brief appearance and quick disappearance of my previous story--it was another version of this one, but I wasn't happy with it, so I deleted it and wrote this one instead. I hope you'll like it!! :D

A homeless man next to the building Steve lived in was nothing new, and nothing interesting. The neighborhood was reckless and dangerous, the kind of area where you wanted to walk with a knife in your pocket and peak over your shoulder every once in a while. It was a place where people left you alone if you left them alone, and a place where a rude look into wrong direction could mean your life. It wasn't ideal, but for Steve it was home, and he had never had a quarrel with a single soul, most of the people in the area knowing him quite well. 

Steve was used to seeing filthy people leaning against the wall next to the front doors of his building, an old brownstone with cracked basement floor windows, so he thought nothing of this one either, giving him a brief once over to see if he was injured and needed help or was just standing there in lack of anything else to do. The man was tall, though shorter than Steve, and in a better shape than many homeless people Steve had seen. He wore a pair of ripped jeans, combat boots and a green army jacket with the collars turned up. On his head he had an old cap, pulled down to cover his face, dark brown and tangled strands of hair escaping from under it and reaching his shoulders. Steve was able to see the man's jaw, covered by a scruff, but nothing else. The man was lean, his shoulders wide, and he stood rigid, as if guarding something. He jolted when Steve stopped at the door, digging his keys out of his pocket, and Steve heard the soft hiss of pain when the man put his weight on his left foot. 

"Excuse me?" Steve said slowly, adjusting the grocery bags in his arms as he took a step back from the door. "Are you alright?" 

The man seemed surprised and a little angry at Steve's intrusion, probably not used to people giving a crap about him. He raised his head to meet Steve's eyes, and Steve was able to see the rest of his face. 

The man was very beautiful. Dirty, unwashed and unshaven, but beautiful nonetheless. He had enormous, steel-blue eyes, and his lashes were so long they brushed his cheeks everytime he blinked. His skin was very pale, the light making it look like ivory as he tilted his head in question at Steve's staring. 

Steve coughed, flashing a smile he hoped was unwavering. "My name is Steve Rogers. I'm sorry if you don't want people prying into your privacy, but I thought that if you are hurt I could help you." He offered calmly. 

The man frowned, looking down and leaning on to his left foot. Another hiss escaped him, this time along with a curse in a foreign language. He looked back up. 

"I don't need any help, just that I need to get into this building." He pointed at the doors. "I don't have a key." 

"Well," Steve said slowly. "Only the people who live here have keys. Do you live here?" Steve knew he didn't, but there was something about the man that made him feel uneasy and nervous around him. He kind of hoped he hadn't stopped to talk. 

"I don't." The man grunted. "I'm visiting someone. Natasha Romanov?" 

"Oh!" Steve felt relieved. "She's my neighbor. I didn't know the intercom didn't work." He pushed the key into the lock and held the door open as the man walked in, limping slightly with his face in a grimace. Steve made sure the door was locked before turning back to the hall, seeing the stranger already halfway up the first stairs. 

"We have an elevator too, if you... If it'd be easier." He called, and the man turned around, giving him a murderous glare that shook Steve into the bone. 

"Do I look like a fucking invalid to you?" The man growled as Steve approached. 

"Not at all," Steve said. "Just that I can see your leg hurts and thought it'd be more comfortable to use the elevator. Tasha lives in the highest floor, and there's nothing you need to prove, at least for me." He swallowed as the man froze at his words. Great. Twelve years without an incident in this part of New York, and now he'd be killed in his own staircase, by Natasha's guest. Maybe everyone had their moments, and Steve's was now over.

But the man didn't seem to want murder. Instead, he looked up at Steve and smiled--it was a terribly good look on him--a small laugh escaping him as he turned back. 

"Fine," he said softly. "I'll take the elevator, if you take it too." 

"Well of course," Steve said, relieved. "I have groceries with me, and I don't want to run into Mrs. Martin." 

The man gave him a questioning look and a hum. "I don't want to know who Mrs. Martin is." He said quietly, pressing the button next to the elevator doors. 

"You don't, trust me." Steve huffed, again adjusting the bags. "But, I'd like to know your name." Again he wondered if he was being too bold, but the man didn't seem to care much. He shrugged, limping into the elevator and pressing the eleventh floor. 

"Bucky." He said. "Barnes." 

"Bucky." Steve repeated. "It's a--"

"Oh for goodness' sake!" Bucky huffed. "Please don't tell me it's a nice name, I'm not a woman you need to impress or something. It's my name and that's it." But he was laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement, and Steve found it disturbingly attractive. He coughed, feeling the blush spread across his face. 

"I was going to say it's an unusual name," he mumbled. "But whatever you wish." 

Bucky hummed again, leaning against the wall as the obnoxiously cheery elevator music filled the small space. Steve couldn't help but notice that despite the appearance Bucky smelled incredibly good. Like cigarettes and lemons and something soft and spicy, and even if Steve usually hated the smell of cigarettes it seemed to belong to Bucky's character. He took a deep breath, staring at the numbers of the floors they passed by. 

"So, is Natasha your friend?" He asked. 

"Yeah." Bucky said. "For quite a long time. She... I'm moving in." 

"You are?" Steve turned. "Are you two-?"

"No." Bucky grinned. "No, I just needed a place and she found me. I wanted a place of my own but as she is one of the only people I tolerate, I said yes." 

"I see. So, is your stuff coming in later?" Steve asked, hoping he wasn't crossing any lines with his questions. 

"Yes. I came here today to get the key, I'm moving in two days. A brief visit." He tapped at the railing with his left hand, covered by a glove, and Steve frowned at the sound. It sounded like Bucky's arm was very solid and heavy, the railing ringing like it had been hit with something metallic. Bucky noticed his frown and stuffed his hand back into his pocket. 

"How come a person like you lives in a hellhole like this?" Bucky asked as the elevator doors slid open and they stepped into the corridor, only two doors on opposite ends cutting the dirty white paint of the walls. 

"Well, I've lived here for twelve years, Mr. Barnes." Steve said. "I'm an artist. I'm making money, but not regularly, and I'm terrible at saving it. So in twelve years I've made my apartment into what I want it to be, and I have no complaints. Only that I can climb from my balcony to Natasha's, and Clint can do the opposite, which he does every morning." He sighed. 

"I see." Bucky said. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Rogers. I'm sure we'll meet again, and if not I'll probably have to climb to your balcony." He winked, turning around and walking to Natasha's door, banging it three times with his gloved hand. He didn't turn back anymore, and Steve didn't feel like he had the right to stare, so he strode to his own door and was inside at the same time Natasha's door opened to let Bucky in. Steve heard a few words in russian before the door was closed, leaving the corridor empty again. 

With a huff Steve rushed into the kitchen, sighing in relief as he finally put the heavy bags down on to the counter. He kind of hated grocery shopping. He only had a motorcycle, and driving with groceries was impossible, forcing him to walk the distance no matter the weather. And today was scorching hot. 

"Afternoon, Cap!" A cheery voice from the dining table made Steve jump, and he turned, a knife in his hand, faster than he had thought he could. But it was only Clint, the voice registering in Steve's mind at the same time the blonde hair and bandaged face came to view. Steve straightened, putting the knife away. 

"Seriously, Barton. I have accepted the fact you are here every morning, but please don't climb in when I'm not here." Steve pleaded. "This place has me on edge about intruders anyway, I could kill you." 

"No you couldn't." Clint said confidently. "I'm too fast. But--" he said quickly as Steve frowned, "I shouldn't sneak in when you are away. Sorry." 

Steve hummed, returning to his task of emptying the groceries. "What brings you here this time then?" 

"Well, if you want a lie, I came to see your handsome face. That part isn't the lie, though, you are gorgeous. But if you wan't the truth, it's Nat's new roommate." Clint looked down, his expression bitter. 

"Bucky?" Steve asked, pretending he didn't notice the change in Clint's mood. That was the best way to get answers from the other guy. 

"Yeah. How'd you know?" 

"Ran into him downstairs." Steve shrugged. "Is he a bad guy then? You usually like everyone." Which was true. Clint was as good at making friends as he was at making enemies, if his bruised and bandaged appearance was anything to go by. 

"No. I don't think so. It's just that he's... Damn. He's got a history with Nat and I don't feel comfortable around the house with him there. I know I can trust Nat and that's not it I'm not that stupid, but have you SEEN that guy? He's like a fucking assassin with a robotic arm." Clint huffed. 

"Robotic--nevermind. And if I might remind you-" Steve turned to point at Clint with a carrot, "that both you and Nat are assassins. An information I learned about after earning your trust four years ago." 

"Yeah. Funny that we told you. Why haven't you given us up?" 

"Feels safe to have a few assassins next door. Isn't that weird around here." Steve shrugged. "And if this is a warning that Bucky is one too, let me tell you, he seemed really nice." 

"Nice?!" Clint's forehead banged against the table, followed by an 'ow' and a curse. "He is scary. And I didn't come here to warn you. I came here to escape." 

"Look," Steve sighed, pulling a chair and sitting opposite to the other man. "I asked Bucky if he was with Nat when we were in the elevator. He said no. He doesn't eactly seem like the guy who'd lie about something as insignificant as that. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." 

"I know." Clint guffawed. "I can't believe I'm getting dating advice from you, Cap. When was the last time you had a relationship with someone?" 

"None of your business, Barton." Steve said. "And you came to me."

"Yeah, sorry. Well, can I have your permission to shoo Bucky here if I ever feel threatened?" 

Steve laughed. "If you indeed manage to shoo him, without ending up dead, be my guest. He was an interesting character." 

"Hm." Clint grinned. "It's a deal then. And since I don't see any coffee coming my way," he craned his neck towards the empty coffee machine, "I shall take my leave. Wish me luck, Nat hates it when I climb the balconies." 

"Good luck." Steve smiled, waving his hand as Clint disappeared. 

•••••••••••

Bucky sat on the couch, drilling a hole into the opposite wall with his eyes just as the window was slid open and Clint stumbled in. Bucky made no move, just letting his eyes follow the man, a small grin on his face as Clint cursed, falling over a sidetable. It was amusing how the blonde lay on spot for a while, cursing under his breath, and Bucky couldn't hold in a snort.

Clint jumped up, noticing Bucky, his expression changing from surprised into a more guarded one. 

"Don't worry," Bucky said softly. "Nat's out. Said we had to celebrate." He still didn't move, observing Clint. He knew the other wasn't exactly happy with him living under the same roof, and he decided it was time for some honesty, especially if they wanted to feel comfortable around each other.

"Look," Bucky coughed as Clint pushed the table back up and closed the window. "I know that you know about me and Natasha. Our history--"

"It's okay." Clint said quickly. "I trust Nat." 

"Yeah, sure." Bucky huffed. "And that's not what I'm saying here. What I'm saying is that it's history. She has changed. I have changed. Besides, I think that neighbor of yours is really cute." Bucky had to fight a laugh as Clint's face lit up. "His name was Steve I think... I--"

"Seriously?" Clint interrupted, turning towards him, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "So, these days you swing that way?" 

"Yes." 

"These days you--"

"Don't. Cross it." Bucky warned with a growl, and Clint held up his hands. 

"Sorry." He slumped down next to Bucky. "Wow. Seriously? This is awesome. Can I be your Cupid? I know Steve really well." 

"My Cu--no. No, I seriously don't need your help." Bucky felt a little nervous. His only intention had been to make Clint feel more relaxed around him, not have him sending love notes signed by Bucky to that blonde across the hall. Not that Steve really wasn't super hot. He was taller than Bucky, with incredible blue eyes and biceps that looked--

"See, you're blushing!" Clint laughed. "Man, this is cool. I'll make sure you two end up together--"

"No!" Bucky said quickly. "Clint, please. Let me handle this, okay? I'm not... I can't force anything on others. Yeah?" 

Clint looked a little disappointed, but nodded. "Sure. But you can't stop me from openly shipping you two. I can do it so that he'll get the idea but doesn't know you really like him. Like some awkward 'you'd be so cute together' shit and then you can look at me all scandalized." 

Bucky laughed in disbelief, and Clint took it as a yes, bouncing up and rushing towards the front door. 

"Awesome!" He called. "I have to tell Nat!" And before Bucky could order him back he was gone, the door slamming shut and running footsteps disappearing to the stairs. 

"Goddamnit." Bucky huffed.


	2. "On your left"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a few people have asked me if I'm going to continue this story, because it shows that I've already finished, when clearly the first chapter doesn't quite even start anything yet. I'm so so sorry about it, and I hope I now managed to fix it ^^   
> So, there WILL be multiple chapters! 
> 
> And I hope you like this one :)

Steve woke up to the smell of coffee, not in the least surprised. He stretched, yawning so thoroughly his jaw hurt, stumbling up from the bed and towards the kitchen. He had gotten rid of his alarm clock weeks ago, after Clint had appeared into his apartment every morning at exactly six o'clock, leaving Steve nearly two hours to get to work. 

And again, Clint was seated on one of the bar stools in front of the counter, reading New York Times and sipping hot coffee from a purple mug he had brought for his own use about a month earlier. He raised his head as Steve entered the room, grinning tiredly. 

"Early mornings," he said as a greeting, watching as Steve padded to the coffee machine and poured himself a big mug. 

"Very early," Steve said, glancing at the clock. It was only five thirty. "Did Bucky drive you out this early?" He raised an eyebrow, taking a seat. 

"No," Clint's smile turned wider. "No, actually, we had a talk last night after I left your place. We're good." He snorted. 

"Really?" Steve was surprised. "What kind of a talk? Did it involve violence?" 

"No! What high thoughts you have of me," Clint shook his head. "No, he started it. The talk, I mean." 

"What did he say then?" 

"That he has set his sights on someone else." Clint said mysteriously. Steve felt his mood drop, taking a long sip of coffee before answering. 

"Good." He coughed, the coffee burning his throat. "Anything worth reading in the paper?" 

"Apart from the comics? No. Oh, except that Stark got richer again." Clint flipped back to the first page and slid the paper across the table. "I can't believe the guy. Lives like a king yet spares nothing to his poor friends. Look where we live!" 

"I like my apartment," Steve mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "And you know he has offered each of us our own floors in the tower. And the use of all his cars, yachts and whatever he has. That is very generous." 

"Maybe he offered all that to YOU, but I'd only get my own room, and he wouldn't even allow me into his garage." Clint said sadly, rolling the mug between his palms. 

"Well you did crash his Porche." Steve grinned. "And you broke three of his bullet-proof windows half a year ago. I think his suspicions are relevant." He read the text on the paper, a boring rant about some international sales Stark had won with his charm. No surprises there. 

"Besides, the only one living in the tower is Bruce. Because Stark funds all his scientific experiments, and he has given Banner TWO floors. One for living and one for the lab." Clint complained. "I'd probably even accept just the room there, but I can't get Nat to move out. And now that we have a new pet, he first has to get to know Stark before I can convince him to talk to Nat with me. I'm so done with this building! The only good thing here is your coffee." 

"Thank you," Steve said, "though it's you who makes the coffee." 

"Yeah. Nat's coffee machine is ancient and smells like vodka." 

"I get that. And did you just call Bucky a pet?" Steve frowned, and Clint laughed. 

"I did. His hair is so fluffy and he's so grumpy in the mornings, he's like a puppy. He was awake before me, mumbling something in russian at the coffee machine. I'm not the only one in need of real coffee." He raised his mug in salute. "Do you think he'd like Stark?" 

"Doubt that." Steve smiled. "Even I still have my days when I can't stand him. Not that he's not nice. You just need to adjust yourself onto the same level with him so you won't get annoyed. I guess that's why Bruce is so good with him." 

"And because Bruce is smart. Stark respects that." Clint shrugged. "Well, my mug is empty. I better get going, work calls!" He stood up, placing the mug into the sink. 

"Apart from knowing your profession, I have no idea what you guys do all day," Steve said thoughtfully. "I do know you kill people--"

"No, not necessarily. We deliver them for questioning, we question them, we spy on them, gather information--those are the boring days, lots of paperwork--and then we kill who we have to. I'm surprised that doesn't bother you, Cap." Clint tilted his head. 

"Hey, I might be against violence, but I'm not stupid. Criminals and dangerous people exist. And if that's what you do how come you have time to be home then?" 

"There are others. We are just the best." Clint grinned, climbing onto the windowsill. "Bye!" 

"You could--" Steve tried, but Clint was already gone. "--use the door too." He gave up, sitting back down. He still had over two hours before work, and he was tired. The coffee wasn't helping, so he decided to lay down for a while. Not to sleep, just lay down and get ready for a long day at the library... 

••••••••• 

Bucky hated elevator music. With all his heart. It was too cheery, too obnoxious for his taste. Who the hell needed music while standing in a stupid box? And who the hell chose the music for the box? He was certain that as soon as his leg would work again, he'd only use the stairs. 

He stepped out of the elevator in the first floor, pulling his cap lower to cover his face, when thundering steps from the stairs made him jolt just as someone yelled: 

"On your left!" And Steve rushed past him, skidding to a halt in front of the doors. 

Bucky stared, one hand on the cap, eyes wide. 

"Bucky!" Steve's face lit up, and it was damn adorable. He was like a puppy, Bucky could imagine a furry tail wagging behind his back. "Hi! I'm sorry, I didn't know you were still here." He walked towards Bucky, before understanding they didn't exactly know each other well enough for a hug, and stopped, standing awkwardly a few feet away from him. 

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked with a crooked smile. 

"I mean you said yesterday you were only getting the key, and that it was a brief visit. I'm sorry. That's rude." Bucky wanted to laugh at Steve's blushing but couldn't. Instead he swallowed and grinned. 

"Yeah. Uhm, Nat wanted to celebrate me moving in and after I made peace with Clint he was determined to get me drunk... So I might have passed out on their couch." Bucky said, pulling the cap lower, only to have Steve let out a sort of a distressed noise. 

"What?" Bucky looked up to see the source of the distress, but Steve was staring right at him with a frown. "Do I have something on my face?" 

"No!" Steve hurried to say. "I mean. Don't cover your face. With the cap. Because--" Steve looked like he was about to explode or have a seizure or just die. "Because your face is beautiful--ohmygodamIreallysayingthis--and you shouldn't hide it." He pulled at his collar and refused to look at Bucky. 

For a moment Bucky was speechless, so happy he nearly vibrated, but he tuned it down, taking a deep breath and straightening, still having to look up to see Steve's eyes. He could make this even more awkward than it already was... or he could help Steve a little.

"Steve," he huffed, taking the cap off and throwing it away. "Would you like to braid my hair now that my face should show more?" 

Steve looked scandalized, his eyes widening, and Bucky laughed. It was probably the first real laugh he had managed in a long time, and it made his chest hurt. But Steve's face was definitely worth it. 

"I'm sorry if I was--" Steve tried, but Bucky waved him off, starting to limp towards the doors. 

"Forget it. I'm glad you find my face worth looking at." He coughed, scratching the back of his neck. "Why were you in such a hurry anyway?" He asked, sniffing and wiping a tear off his scruffy cheek. 

Steve froze. "Oh god. I'm still in a hurry! I fell asleep after Clint came by for coffee--my shift has started long time ago!" He vibrated on spot, still being a gentleman enough to hold the door open for Bucky. 

"Okay, then I won't hold you any longer. Just, off note... Can I use your coffee machine too one day?" Bucky's subtle question was manhandled to the ground as Steve bounced down the stairs, nodding enthusiastically and looking for a cab. 

"Sure, sure, just climb from the window with Clint in the morning!" Steve said quickly, a cab screeching to a halt next to him. 

"No, I didn't mean--" Bucky tried, but with a wave Steve and the cab were gone, leaving Bucky alone on the empty street. 

"I meant as in a date." He huffed, shaking his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky. And poor Steve, he's a little slow. XD This chapter is a bit shorter one cuz I had to write half of it again, but the next one will be an enormous one I think. ^^


End file.
